business reasons. And he never mixed business with pleasure.
“Look at you.”
He glanced to the left and saw Taneesha Gregory leaning over the wall of one of the cubicles, her smile wide, her dark eyes bright with humor. Taneesha was his favorite cameraman—or camera goddess as she preferred to call herself. Shameless and fearless, she often had to muscle her way through a crowd of male news photographers to get the best shot, shoving her camera into a person’s face to catch the nuances of their reaction to a question. When it came to a hard-hitting investigative piece, Taneesha was the person Brian wanted to be there to get the shot.
“Don’t even start,” he warned, wagging his finger at her.
“You da bomb,” she said, laughing and clapping her hands. She came around the cubicle, then reached up and straightened his bow tie. “But I think a tux is a little over the top for a weekend anchor. I hear you’re doing the eleven o’clock news tomorrow night.”
“Yeah. But the tux isn’t for that. I’m working on a story.”
“I hope you don’t need me for this story. Because you know I don’t wear a—”
“Dress,” Brian finished. “Yes. I know. The last time you wore a dress was your wedding.”
“That’s right,” she said, brushing a speck of lint off his shoulder. “And I promised Ronald that I’d wear a dress on our silver wedding anniversary. That’s still eleven years off.”
“Don’t worry,” Brian assured her. “Tonight I’m just checking out a lead. Richard Patterson, our sleazy neighborhood real estate developer is hosting a fund-raiser tonight. And I’m going to crash the party and get a look at his guests.”
Taneesha groaned. “Are you still on that story? If the boss finds out you’re chasing Patterson around town, he’ll have your head. Or have you forgotten just how much money Patterson spends on advertising with this station?”
“He’s got six fast-food restaurants and a car dealership which represent a fraction of his total business worth. And it’s station policy that the sales department and the news department are independent of each other.”
“That’s what they say, but without advertising, WBTN wouldn’t exist. And you’d be left shouting your stories from the top of Beacon Hill.”
“I know there’s a story here,” Brian said in a serious tone. “I can feel it. I’m going to corner him and see what happens. Hell, what can he do? All those rich folks and him wanting to buy a place on the social ladder. I don’t think he’s going to haul off and hit me.”
“Are you crazy? They’ll toss you out of there so fast you’ll—”
“Don’t you think the public has a right to know? Three other developers spend seven years in court, trying to get approval on that property. Patterson buys it and he gets the zoning variance within weeks. He paid for that variance and I want to know how much it cost him and who got the money.”
“Guys like that cover their tracks well.”
“Shady real estate deals, backroom bargaining and a lot of money changing hands. Sooner or later, they’re going to get lazy and make a mistake. Patterson’s deals always seem to come too easily. My brother-in-law, Rafe Kendrick, is a developer and even he says that Patterson isn’t legal.”
“You realize that the guy who owns this television station is an old friend of Richard Patterson’s? Maybe you should think about your career here?”
Brian laughed. “I’ve become the top investigative reporter in Boston in just over a year and I pull in the viewers. They’re not going to fire me.”
“But they may not offer your cocky ass the weekend anchor position. And you know the weekend anchor will be the one to replace Bill when he retires in two years.”
The rumors had been swirling around the station since the last ratings period but Brian tried not to listen to them. “You think I want to sit in front of a camera and read news for the rest of my career?” he asked.
“Well, you certainly have the face for it,” Taneesha said, giving his cheek a playful pat.
Brian shouldn’t have been surprised by the talk. He had moved up the ladder pretty quickly at WBTN and though he wanted to believe it was because of his journalistic abilities, he suspected that it had a lot to do with his looks. The demographics said it all. He was the most popular newsperson in the entire city with women aged twenty-one through forty-nine. And his numbers with the male audience weren’t too bad either. The women in focus groups liked the way he looked and men liked that he was just a regular guy from Southie. The people of Boston trusted Brian Quinn to tell them the truth.
“I may have the face, but not the stomach for it. Any more than you’d be able to handle standing behind a studio camera. You’re like me. You like to be out on the streets.”
“But if you don’t want the promotion, why do you work so hard?”
Brian shrugged. “Because I like to be the first to know.”
“Taneesha! We’ve got a three-alarm fire in Dorchester. You’re up.”
Taneesha turned and waved at one of the junior reporters who was racing toward the door. “Let’s go, then.” She gave Brian a smile. “When you break this story, don’t you forget your favorite camera goddess. I’ll stick that camera so far up Patterson’s nose, we’ll be able to read his mind.”
“You’ll be there,” Brian replied. He watched as Taneesha hurried off to the waiting news truck, then opened his desk drawer and pulled out the handheld tape recorder. He popped in a new tape, pausing to think about what Taneesha had said.
He knew that management had plans for him, that he was fast becoming “the new face of WBTN-TV.” And until this moment, he’d been caught up in all the excitement of his meteoric rise. But Brian knew what he wanted and it wasn’t an anchor job, even if it meant big money and a high profile in town. All he really cared about was telling a good story.
When he’d gotten out of college, he’d been determined to work in print journalism. So he’d paid his dues with small newspapers in Connecticut and Vermont. But he’d wanted to get back to Boston and when he’d been offered an entry-level news-writing job at WBTN, he’d taken it. He’d never once expected it to blossom into the career it had.
Brian slipped the tape recorder into his jacket, then pulled his car keys out of his trouser pocket. As he headed toward the door, Taneesha’s warning still niggled at his brain. He’d worked with her for over a year and she’d never steered him wrong—when it came to a story or personal advice. But every instinct told him that, contrary to public opinion, his career wasn’t headed in the right direction. And Brian trusted his instincts.
Hell, he could just quit right now and start over again, find a job at a decent newspaper and work his way up. But he was thirty years old. At that age, a guy was supposed to have his life in order, his priorities straight. But then, he hadn’t been brought up in a conventional family, so maybe he had a good excuse.
Life in the Quinn house had taught all six of the Quinn brothers to live from moment to moment. Their father, Seamus, was rarely at home, his job as a commercial fisherman keeping him away from Southie for weeks at
